


The Glare of the Sun

by stardropdream



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:04:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first and only time Kamui tried to read Fuuma's mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Glare of the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ April 19, 2009.

The first and only time Kamui read Fuuma’s mind, it left him more confused than enlightened.   
  
He couldn’t pinpoint the man. He was too distant and too tricky to distinguish. Each emotion was hidden beneath a smile that wasn’t quite his own. He always moved the same, fighting him but always seeming to touch him and draw to him like a moth to the flame. His words were always as empty as his smiles. Liar. Kamui knew he was a liar.   
  
The man had his arms around him, his breathing hot and heavy in his ear, and he could just hear the grin in his voice as he told him that he was becoming predictable in his fighting moves, in his expressions. Kamui hated that, hated to think that someone _knew_ him when he knew nothing of this man behind him, breathing down his neck and chuckling in that ridiculous manner he always chuckled.   
  
Kamui glared at the ground and tried to wiggle his way out of Fuuma’s grasp. His hold only tightened around his middle and his lips just ghosted over the shell of Kamui’s ear, promising he wasn’t going anywhere so soon.   
  
“Let go of me,” Kamui said and hated the way that there was such heaviness to Fuuma’s words that he couldn’t identify or dissect. He could never tell what the man was after.  
  
Fuuma brought it back to a world he could understand, saying, with a slight chuckle, “Give me the water.”   
  
“Not on your life,” Kamui hissed.   
  
“Water is necessary for _humans_ , Kamui,” Fuuma breezed over his ear and he could still hear that ridiculous grin in his voice, “So, yes. On my life, give me the water.”   
  
“Die.”   
  
“Someday.”   
  
He hated it. Kamui wrenched himself from his grasp, twirling around in order to kick at the side of his face. Fuuma ducked and grabbed his ankle, hurling him against the nearby wall and hand straying to his gun in the holster, darting forward to meet Kamui halfway. Kamui launched himself off the wall, ready to pierce his throat with one hand.   
  
In one swift moment he was back in Fuuma’s grasp, shoved against the wall, the barrel of a gun pressed smoothly against the underside of his chin. Cold metal against feverish skin. Kamui glared. Fuuma smiled. They both knew he wouldn’t shoot, but that moment of understanding passed between them—Fuuma had won this round.   
  
He couldn’t predict his moves. He couldn’t ever understand what could possibly be going on in that ridiculous mind of the tower leader. His eyes narrowed and he glared at him, the familiar strings of curiosity twirling through his mind, a constant reminder of his own power.   
  
He was stronger than this _human._   
  
Fuuma was smiling at him, and Kamui worked hard on concentrating, on slipping past that mask and into the man’s mind. It was unlike any mind he’d ever seen before. The thoughts of most people were jumbled, jumping in front of one another in order to gain the advantage over the mind. Thoughts danced back and forth, screaming to be heard and difficult to pinpoint.   
  
Fuuma’s mind was almost painfully calm. And one thought rang the loudest: _Stay close. Stay here. Don’t go away._   
  
Kamui’s eyes widened in about the same moment that Fuuma’s did. The gun was away from his throat, and Fuuma was away from him, backing up a step and his face almost painfully hardened, the smile slipping only for a moment before coming back in its full force of wattage. His sun-worn face smoothed until there was no crack, no fracture, in that faultless mask.   
  
And suddenly Kamui heard it in his mind, as if Fuuma was screaming: _You don’t belong in here, Kamui._   
  
Kamui stared, flabbergasted, as Fuuma forced himself away from Kamui. Kamui forced himself away from Fuuma’s mind, and staring at him in surprise before forcing himself into defiance once again, eyes narrowed and almost seeping into a bright gold color.   
  
Fuuma was smiling at him, but there was nothing behind it and his eyes were cold and guarded. “We’ll be back for the water later, Kamui,” he promised, turning his back on Kamui with a small wave. “See you later.”   
  
Kamui watched him and his comrades ride away on their sand bikes and felt even more confused than he’d been before.   
  
Fuuma eventually returned a few days later, and when he did his smile wasn’t as cold, but still distant. Kamui couldn’t understand why, somehow, that smile didn’t settle well with him, how somewhere deep inside his chest he longed to close that distance.   
  
They fought, Fuuma held him close and whispered his mocking words slowly into his ear, chuckling every time. They fought, Kamui struggled to get away from him and hurling insults, growling every time.   
  
This was how they worked.


End file.
